


Insecurities

by CheetagonZita



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blowjobs, F/M, GET IT, I guess I kinda tried to make it cute, Sexual Content, hah, idk if I succeded, succ-eeded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheetagonZita/pseuds/CheetagonZita
Summary: Stefano is being criticised for his work and is feeling down. You're trying to make him feel better.





	Insecurities

_The last time I saw art as deluded as Stefano Valentini's photos, the artist's name was Saif al-Islam Gaddafi... Seriously -- Mr. Valentini -- I am talking to you. It seems you have no one around you to say this: stop, now. Shut up the shed._

This was just the conclusion of the terrible critique the reporter had published in their magazine; it contained a lot more uncouth words describing Stefano’s art which were blatantly uncalled for. 

They came for a regular interview following the recent opening of Stefano’s exhibition at Unions Art Gallery. As his assistant, you played a major role in the organization of said exhibition. You loved his work, and therefore going through the hassle of setup and sending out invites to people and the press wasn’t much of a chore to you. Only one of said journalists actually showed up, but out of all the reporters in Union, it had to be this one. She made a nice impression when you met her in person, therefore, her dragging of Stefano’s art with words as harsh as those came as a surprise.

The article didn’t only cover his art and exhibition, but also him as a person. Since he wasn’t one to talk about his past very much, you actually found the article very insightful. You weren’t aware that he used to be a war photographer, nor that an explosion took away his right eye, which was probably why he constantly kept wearing his raven hair in a swept down bang over the right side of his face. You never payed much attention to it, you thought it was just a fashion statement.

Thinking about it now after reading, his past, his fate-- everything you thought was strange or unusual about him or his behaviour-- it all seemed to fall into place suddenly. According to the article, he originally came to Union to because, aside from the “ignorant world that could not comprehend his definition of art”, he considered Union a “haven” where he could “realize his masterpieces of flesh and blood without interference and criticism”. Oh, how wrong he was. In the end, whether in STEM or not, there were actual, real people in here, too. Something he seemed to forget every so often, especially when talking about his “models”. Or did he?

Slowly, you entered the dark room, illuminated only by the set-up studio lighting equipment at the end of the room, and the faint blue glow of what seemed like another one of Stefano’s artworks, frozen in time. In the center of the room, there was a sofa, round-edged, apparently rococo style. Various different pieces of furniture were loosely scattered along the room’s walls: a coffee table, a dresser, a side table, the occasional chair-- mundane things. Some of the surfaces had decorations on them, but only a few. Apart from those few things-- which made the room look more like a storeroom than anything else (even though most of the rooms in this place did)-- nothing could distract from the scenery in the center. 

Somewhere in the room there was a record player that was playing some classical music, although it was too dark to pinpoint its exact location, and the sounds were resonating from the marble floor and walls, which made the source even harder to spot. It was the music that drew you to this room in the first place, thinking this might be where to find him.

As you slowly stepped closer to the setup in front of you, it didn’t take you long to realise that it was indeed another model of his, trapped in a blue square of stopped time. It was a woman, wearing a white turtleneck sweater with black jeans that complimented her figure, and big, round earrings that had been dangling from her ears. Her flowing brown hair made a fine addition to the scenery. She had a sort of familiar face. You felt like you’ve seen her before. Blood was gushing from her neck, which had been slit open, and continued to spray as she was falling backwards in slow motion, only for her to quickly reverse back to her original stance seconds earlier, and then fall back once more. The cycle continued. It was beautiful, so you thought. You could’ve watched for hours if you hadn’t come here for a reason.

You stepped around the left side of the sofa and looked over. Stefano was sitting at the other end of the couch, as you had expected. He was leaning his back onto the corner of the couch, making him sit in a half-angle to what was displayed in front of him, his legs spread accordingly. His right arm rested on one of the sofa’s arms, and his hand was curled into a loose fist that was placed in front of his mouth. This, along with his stern expression, made him look like he was thinking intently. His other arm was resting on his lap.  
He was wearing a white dress shirt, loose around his neck, and black blazer. And were those… Jeans he was wearing? You’ve never seen him wear any of these before. In fact, you weren’t even sure if he owned any prior to this moment. The shoes on the other hand were his usual style, patent-leather and classy. In this case, he probably really didn’t own any other.  
As noticed before his facial expression was stern, staring right at his newest masterpiece. From the light that was flooding the room you were still able to see that his usually-neat hair was ruffled on the edges with a few single hairs sticking out, and you could swear that he had dark bags under his eyes. Didn’t he sleep? Just now you noticed a few individual droplets of blood on his white shirt. He looked like a shadow of his usual self at best; something must’ve happened.

A split second later, you realised just what it was. What it must’ve been. You came over to show him the report, the magazine with the designated page opened in your right hand. But you should’ve known that he already heard about it. That’s when it clicked in your head and everything fell into piece. You had seen the displayed woman at the opening night of his exhibition, before he left with her for said interview. At this point, you weren’t even surprised about this realisation. 

Your gaze had shifted to the artwork as those thoughts crossed your mind, but you looked back at Stefano now. His stare was so intense that you wondered for a second if he realised you had come in. You didn’t mean to startle him in any way. Then again, you were pretty sure he knew. He always knew.

“Rough day, huh?” You said with a nervous smile crossing your lips. He didn’t even flinch, his gaze was still fixated on the scene. You stepped around the sofa, anxiously taking a seat on the other end. Your legs were clenched together and your hands rested on your lap, along with the magazine you had brought with you. You were watching for a reaction on his part, but there was nothing. At least he seemed to tolerate your presence. 

“I, uh… Just read the interview.”, you said while holding up the magazine for a few seconds. For a moment you were wondering if this may have been the wrong thing to say to him. The fingers on his fist unclenched and stretched one by one before turning back into a fist. You could hear him breath heavily as he did. Unsure if it was because of what you just said, you cleared your throat and lowered your gaze, drifting back to the woman dying over and over in front of you. 

“Is… This who I think it is?”

“She didn’t deserve this,” The answer came quick, nearly without hesitation. You turned your head back to Stefano, who still hadn’t moved. Your eyebrows rose, making a confused expression as you weren’t sure what he meant. Before you were able to ask, he continued,  
“Look at her, this positioning, this lightning, the atmosphere… I outdid myself. And yet, even in her final moments, she offered me nothing but disgust from her part. She is unworthy of this portrayal.”

You heard the sound of leather rubbing against each other and it was only now that you realised he was wearing black gloves. The formerly lose fist became tightened, and you saw him curl his nose into something that resembled a snarl, although he wasn’t baring his teeth.

You felt sorry for him. He wasn’t taking criticism on his work too kindly, and this one in particular must’ve been earth shattering for him.

While you enjoyed his art an awful lot, unlike him, you were able to see why some people would dislike it or even find it “gruesome” or “morbid”, to name a few words the reporter had used on her paper. There was a certain beauty in what Stefano created and you could see it.

When you applied for the position of his assistant a few months ago, you weren’t entirely sure what you were in for. You had student loans to pay, and rent for your tiny apartment was coming up, too, so you were hunting for a simple side job at least. You were lucky to have found Stefano’s proposal on a flyer pinned on a streetlight one day. You were an artist yourself, although you were much more of a painter than a photographer. Still you figured assisting and helping other artists would be an occupation you could live with. 

However you weren’t really expecting the character that was Stefano Valentini. You had worked with photographers before, but none of them were quite so… Present. It felt like his whole personality was filling a room and you were captivated by it from the very beginning. His aura was frightening, his gaze always looking over everything and everyone like a predator searching for his next prey. You didn’t realise until later how right you were about that. 

He was older than you, but not old enough for you to find him unattractive. His lean figure, his fancy appearance and his Italian accent were fitting together nicely like a puzzle. Although, you intended to keep the relationship between you strictly professional. After all you needed this job and you had better things to do with your time than to gush about potential crushes. Or so you thought.

To your surprise, it was Stefano who made the first move on you. You don’t exactly remember how it happened, but it started with him being interested in taking pictures of you instead of his usual motives. You felt flattered, but also uneasy, considering what his other “models” looked like. You remember the both of you dancing and before you knew it, you ended up in bed with him. It was a rather unique experience since you didn’t know which of your emotions were stronger: fear, or lust. And from the looks of it, Stefano enjoyed that an awful lot. This had been the only incident of its sort and it had been weeks already.  
You hadn’t talked about it, you being too nervous to bring it up and him seemingly having other things on his mind. But this was also when you first learned about his special powers. Having pictures or video footage taken of you during sex was one thing, but being photographed during climax and then freezing in time for a few moments was a new experience entirely. 

Afterwards, he proceeded to show you what else he could do, flash-stepping teleportation, projecting time distortion fields, molding flesh and shaping life out of corpses and inorganic materials as he presented his “Obscura” to you, a creature created by him from the remains of at least one victim and an old, perhaps overly long, large format camera in place of its head. It was disturbing, but fascinating at the same time.

You thought that showing you all those things he could do was his way to show you that he trusted you, but after getting to know him better you realised it was probably to show off. He just loved being empowered and adored, and he knew you did, in a very twisted way. It was also then when he revealed to you where his models and motives came from. At that point you weren’t even surprised anymore that it involved actual murder, although he managed to fool everybody else into thinking that what was displayed in his photographs were merely props. It made the whole ideal more real to you, more _intense_. Your fear of him became stronger, but so did the fascination and respect for him and his work. He talked about it constantly, sometimes you weren’t even sure if he was speaking to you or to himself.

Naturally, you could feel his discomfort in this situation. But you also couldn’t think of anything to make him feel any better. He apparently tried to take care of that on his own, as evidenced by the display in front of both of you. You looked back at the magazine in your hands and you remembered why you came here in the first place. Perhaps just trying to distract him could work. 

You shifted in your seat and turned your body towards him. “She really didn’t,” you agreed.  
“But the whole article was talking about some other interesting things. I didn’t know you used to be a war photographer.” He inhaled deeply at that comment, his exhaling resembled more of a sigh than anything else. His hand also seemed to unclench. Was it working, or was this just a general topic he didn’t like to talk about? You swallowed. Taking your chances you went a bit further: “I also didn’t know you lost your eye.”

At last, his head turned around to face you, his one visible eye staring straight at you. You couldn’t really tell if this was an angry glare or just a curious gaze, one way or another, it sent shivers down your spine. It made you straighten your back and shift some more. You averted your eyes, darting around to the room to find something to look at. 

“I mean… It’s just that it’s always hidden and I… Just think I never noticed. It says here it changed your whole outlook on art… On life,” You said while pointing at the magazine, but then stopped. You didn’t know what else to say, hoping that he’d get the hint. 

Stefano looked back at his work, only slightly turning his head back. 

“It was a fateful day,” he said finally, “Some say I should mourn about the lost organ. But the loss opened up so many opportunities. I caught a glimpse of the afterlife, and death’s true beauty. But others are too focused on the normativity in life to acknowledge that. They cannot see. I should make them see…”

“I can see it,” you heard yourself say silently, not by choice but more by reflex. Stefano looked back at you and for the first time, there was something like a hint of empathy to be seen in his eye, something you had never seen in him before. 

Just now, as your legs were touching his, you noticed that you had been slowly shuffling closer to him this entire time.

“Can I… have a look at it?” You asked carefully, while faintly gesturing at your own right eye with one of your hands. Stefano turned his head, not to look back at his work this time, but to look the other way entirely. He was avoiding your eyes. The hand that was positioned in front of his mouth this entire time had dropped and was now hanging slightly above his lap, fixated by the elbow that was still seated on the sofa’s arm. 

This reaction surprised you. Was he… Insecure about his eye? The way he talks about it, you were rather sure he’d be proud of it, at least.

You moved even closer, reaching for his face with your left hand and gently turning his head back to you. You’d be way too intimidated by him to do this under normal circumstances, but the flicker of empathy you saw earlier didn’t let you go. He was looking off to the side as you turned his head, only reluctantly meeting your gaze as he was finally facing you. That look was… New, even for you. He looked unsure, nervous even. Slowly, you lifted your hand up to his hairline, to push away the strand of hair that was constantly covering the right side of his face.

Once his face was bared, his functioning eye darted to the side again, avoiding yours entirely. In the socket of his right eye there was a black sphere, possibly to replace the eye that had been placed there before. Around it, there were a lot of scars, most concentrated on the socket itself and spacing further apart in the cheek and forehead areas. The dark scar tissue was easily spotted on his pale skin, but you felt like it accented the thin shape of his face perfectly. It was as much of a work of art as was everything else he created since his “accident”. There was nothing to be ashamed of, you thought.

As you noticed his vision was still cast to the sides, you slowly moved your own head closer to his and gently started planting tiny kisses all over the scarred side of his face. He closed both of his eyes and you felt his brows frown under your touch, but he didn’t move away. 

A few moments passed and eventually you felt a gloved hand caressing the right side of your face, slowly guiding you further down to Stefano’s own mouth as he finally pulled you in for a longing kiss. Your own hand had meanwhile wandered to the curve between his neck and shoulder-- it was only then that you realised that he apparently hadn’t been shaving today. Not that it mattered much to you, at this point you were more occupied with his lips and their salty taste as both of your breaths started to get heavier. 

Minutes passed until you carefully pulled away from his lips to grasp for some air. His hand that held your face had tightened its grip, keeping you close. You looked up slightly and saw that his eyes were still closed, flickering open just the tiniest bit, while his mouth had opened to do some heavy breathing just as yours did. 

“Don’t go,” he said silently, barely above a whisper, and it made your heart pound. It was all the instruction you needed. You hastily pressed your face back to his and the makeout session continued. Perhaps there really was something you could do to make him feel better.

After spending some more time tasting his lips, his tongue, his mouth, you started making your way down to his chin, back to his jaw and down his neck, making sure to stop for some nibbling every now and then.

The hand that had caressed your face earlier had let go of you. In fact, Stefano wasn’t moving at all now, and was merely taking in the sensations you provided in this very moment. To think that this was the same man who carved the image of an eye into your skin during intercourse just a few weeks earlier felt surreal.

Your hand that had held the magazine you came in with had meanwhile released it, and now both of your hands were busy unbuttoning his stained shirt so that you could continue your journey. As you exposed his blank chest, a wave of cologne mixed with his familiar body odor hit you. At this moment, nothing could possibly smell better.  
Instantly, you moved you moved down to his collarbone and to his chest, feeling his accelerated heartbeat and not only hearing, but also feeling his heavy breathing. As the stubble of his chest was rubbing on your face you couldn’t help but start moaning into some of your kisses, which made him inhale sharply in return. You went further down to his stomach, making sure to circle his belly button with your tongue a few times. 

As you did, your hands proceeded to grab Stefanos waist and the sudden, firm grip made his muscles tense and his hip jolt slightly forward. You slowly proceeded to unbutton his pants. At this point, you were no longer on the sofa but kneeling down in front of him. You finally unzipped his pants and pressed your face against his length, continuing to kiss the fabric of his boxers. You felt him moving and throbbing under your touch, and his heavy breathing had started to turn into growling. You looked up slightly; his head was thrown back over the sofa, while his chest was still raising and sinking noticeably. 

Not making him wait any longer you located the slit in his boxers and pulled him out, realizing this was actually the first look you managed to get at him. Shame that the only light sources in the room were now behind you, casting your shadow over him. As it merely stopped you from seeing clearly, and not entirely, you went on with your work. 

Continuing with what had worked so well until now, you started with gently kissing his shaft, slowly suckling and making your way to the tip. Once there, you found that some droplets of liquid had already accumulated and were about to drip down, and you proceeded to clean it with generous licks of your tongue. Stefano was ramming his fingers into the sofa in response. You didn’t see it, but you could definitely hear it, which put a wide smile on your face. 

Finally, you decided to take him all in, steadying the shaft with one of your hands and wrapping your entire mouth around him. As you slowly started to bob your head back and forth, you noticed he had started to slightly move his hips into your movements. It went on like this for quite a while, but it was only after his breathing became quicker that you started to pick up the pace.

As you were getting faster, you eventually felt one of his gloved hands grabbing your hair and pushing you down at an even faster rate. You closed your eyes and moaned right into him-- there was no denying you liked it when he was taking control like this. 

The sound you made seemed to be what tipped him over the hedge, as his entire body started to tense up and he pushed your head down with brute force. It invaded suddenly and surprised you, yet you managed not to choke on his size. When you felt the warm sensation of his juices at the back of your throat, you knew your work was done. You swallowed it all, every single squirt, until he released your hair and he fell back down onto the sofa. You sucked on him one last time, trying to leave as little saliva on him possible. 

You wiped your mouth with your shirt to clear the excess saliva from your lips and rose to your feet. The sight of him lying there, with his chest exposed and eyes closed-- still trying to recollect himself-- was a relishing sight; you felt like you did good. A smile crossed your face and you slightly turned around to face the dying reporter, who had been on a slow-mo death loop the entire time. You wondered if the people trapped in those fields were actually still conscious, knowing what was happening around them. You hoped so. You hoped she witnessed every little bit of what had just happened in front of her. There were people who appreciated Stefano for who he was and for his art, and her sentence was not the ultimate judgement of it.

Looking back at Stefano, you noticed that perhaps it was time to leave. He wasn’t one for cuddling as far as you could tell, and it made you feel like he’d prefer being alone after what you did. You slowly walked past the couch, gently caressing it as you walked past it.  
Thinking to yourself, you repeated his last words in your head over and over: “Don’t go.” Perhaps the first affectionate thing you ever heard him say. It made you smile and blush all over. Maybe he wasn’t a lost cause after all.

 

 

 

BONUS

It was late and you decided to retreat to the bedroom Stefano had designated for you. Helping him with developing film or cleaning his studio sometimes took longer than you’d like to admit, and making your way back home when it got too late made you feel generally uneasy. Granted, Union was supposed to be a peaceful town, but after seeing what Stefano was capable of doing, who could say if there weren’t any others out there who would do the same thing? You were glad when he offered you a spare bedroom for these few times when you decided to stay and wait for the next day to return home.

You didn’t intend on sleeping over when you came here, so you merely climbed out of your clothes and under the covers in your underwear. Even though the rooms in Stefano’s house were always plain and cold, at least this bed was always damn comfortable. It was also big and fancy, like most things in this mansion.

You turned off the nightlight next to the bed and lay down your head. Lots of thoughts were running through your mind, and as you halfway drifted to sleep, you suddenly felt an arm wrapping around your waist. It brought you back immediately and your body flinched from the unexpected touch, your head perking up somewhat.

Shortly after, you felt Stefano’s head next to yours, nuzzling it ever so gently to lay it back down onto the pillow. It definitely worked. Following this, he proceeded to press his thin body to the back of yours, essentially spooning you. You felt his bare skin against your back, which led you to believe that he was wearing merely underwear himself. Feeling his skin, hearing him breath and shuffling through the sheets, smelling his odor… Surprisingly, it calmed you. In fact, this must’ve been the first time ever you’ve been in his presence that you were actually _calm_.

Wait… Didn’t you just leave the room, literally thinking he wasn’t much of a cuddler? Was this his way of saying thank you? Unlikely. Everything he did, he did out of pure self gain. So was this actually something he wanted? Something he was seeking? The thought seemed just as unlikely.

Your legs started to intertwine with his as he pulled you even closer. You decided not to think too much about it, for now. Concentrating and taking in the entire moment was your priority right now, knowing that when the morning came, he’d be out again, looking for new models.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first explicit thing I've written and I haven't been writing in 10 years or so, so please forgive me if this is wierd on some parts.  
> Just felt the need to share for everyone else who's as thirsty for Stefano as I am.


End file.
